


The Choker

by shipcat



Series: Heathens [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Bank Robbery, Crime, Gen, Gun Violence, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, That someone is not happy about it, Unintentional erotic asphixiation, Unresolved Sexual Tension, someone gets shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-19 07:48:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13119300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipcat/pseuds/shipcat
Summary: Hidan gets fired, is strangled by his high school sweetheart, and attempts to rob a bank.





	1. The Choker

**Author's Note:**

> This series was inspired by a Tumblr ask by @syndellwins.

[Art](http://summeringminor.tumblr.com/post/159464894427/idek-theyve-taken-over-my-life) by [@summeringminor](http://summeringminor.tumblr.com), who currently is taking [commissions](http://summeringminor.tumblr.com/post/166996829923/commissions-post-id-be-super-grateful-if).

* * *

Donyoku Kakuzu was doomed the moment Mao Hidan co-signed the lease on their apartment. **  
**

The ink was still wet on the papers when the high school classmate turned baseball star turned to Kakuzu and said – “Do you think you can spare me five bucks for lunch?” and later, when they were munching on Chinese takeout, added, “Oh, and by the way, they dropped me from the team because I lost all of my sponsors, so you’ll have to take a rain check on that security deposit. ”

As it turned out, Mao Hidan was a high school classmate turned baseball star turned criminal parolee convicted of first-degree assault. He took piss tests more often than he actually had to pee, he complained, and he had to constantly check in with his parole officer.

“He is a total dickhole, so you will probably like him,” Hidan said with a mouth full of white rice, as if this was a huge inconvenience rather than a financial disaster.

It wasn’t very assuring.

He had, apparently, attacked a news reporter whom very vaguely insinuated that Hidan had been blood doping. At least two people had videoed the entire affair on their phones, and one of them was good at editing. The video of the assault had gone viral, and as far as athletic careers went, that was the end of that.

Indifferent to social media and celebrity news as a whole, Kakuzu was, perhaps, the only person in the world that did not know that his flatmate was a convicted criminal.

It did, perhaps, explain a couple of things, such as why Hidan was reluctant to discuss his finances, why he always referred to his career in the past tense, why he was so adamant that he move in with the foul-tempered, no-nonsense Kakuzu of all people.

“Why,” Kakuzu slowly started, as he watched a small angry Hidan assaulting an even smaller Nara Shikamaru on the former sport star’s cracked phone screen, internally screaming as he thought of his credit score.

Without good credit, he could not take out a loan; and without a loan, he could not finance his business – and wouldn’t that be a waste of a college education – four years of his life spent kissing academia ass and brown nosing his way into scholarships just to end up back on the streets - living on the scraps of the rich and what little money his fists could beat out of them – dead in two years or less –

There were no words for how much he wanted to choke Hidan right now, so instead he just settled for another dumbfounded, “Why.”

Hidan shushed him. “Keep watching! Here comes the good part,” he commented, proudly shoving the phone into Kakuzu’s face just as the video Hidan swung a metal folding chair at the security team, and was tased shortly thereafter. “How sweet is that? I hear it is supposed to hurt, but actually –“

Hidan glanced at Kakuzu with dark, bruise-purple eyes, words resting between his tongue and his teeth.  “Ah, never mind.” he rubbed the back of his head. “Have you ever been tased before?”

His hands trembled as he tried to prevent himself doing to Mao Hidan what Mao Hidan did to Nara Shikamaru.“…yes,” he eventually said. “For good reason.”

The top of Hidan’s cheeks reddened. “That’s so fucking cool,” he grinned, giving Kakuzu with a fierce, breathless look. It was the sort of look that one tends to have when contemplating strenuous physical activity.

Of course, Kakuzu, near dizzy with anger, noticed none of this.  “Why would you try to kill a sports reporter in broad daylight?”

Hidan’s good mood disappeared. “I didn’t try to murder him,” He crossed his arms, visibly put out. “If I wanted to kill that fucking bastard he would be dead already, but even I’m not that big of a dumbass. Homicide is a career killer. Have you ever heard of O.J. Simpson? Well, you’re an old bastard that doesn’t pay attention to tabloids, so probably not.” He opened a browser on his phone and began typing. “O-J S-I-M-P – Hey!” Kakuzu grabbed him by the collar of his wifebeater and threw him across the room, sending him crashing through a coffee table.

“Oi, what the shit?!” Hidan jumped up, causing bits of glass to rain down onto the floor. Swaying unsteadily on his feet, he glared at his irate flatmate.“You fucking asshole! What was that for?!”

“I’m the asshole?” Hidan’s vision flickered. The sound of glass crunching.  When he came to, cold green eyes were two inches away from his own. “Which one of us just signed a year lease obligating us to pay ten thousand per month knowing that neither of us have the goddamn income to afford it?”

“Not me!” he spat.

Kakuzu wrapped his hands around the other’s throat and slammed him into the wall. “Don’t lie,” he growled.

“Ow, that fucking hurts!” Hidan rasped, scratching the tan fingers circling his neck. “Stop that, you prick!”

“Don’t lie,” he repeated, squeezing even harder.  “You _irresponsible_ , immature, _unreliable_ , idiotic - I knew you hadn’t changed since high school - ” An impish satisfaction unfurled in his chest as he watched the pale throat flutter, gulp and gasp underneath his hand; the contrast between them was so great that his own hands seemed to be made of copper, while Hidan shone like the bleached surface of the moon.

His neck was smooth, he realized. Well-moisturized. Unmarked, unwounded, unlike Kakuzu, who had been scarred by a childhood of poor health, odd diseases, and back alley surgeries his parents could not afford; unlike the slit on his own collarbone, which still oozed black blood on the occasional winter morning.

Kakuzu absentmindedly followed the shape of Hidan’s lips as he silently cursed, flush lips fading into blue. It was a stupid face, very fitting of Hidan’s intelligence. It was also a very attractive face - one that Kakuzu both hated and desired - though he wasn’t quite sure if he would to rip it off, or, or… do something else, though he wasn’t sure quite what he wanted to do with the dumb, beautiful face of the violent Mao Hidan -

who had just gone entirely limp and had fallen against his chest.

Rolling his eyes, Kakuzu released his death grip on his victim. When he refused to breathe, he reluctantly pounded on his back with a fist. Within a couple of seconds, Hidan was gasping for air, spewing profanity and chattering as if he had not nearly died of asphyxiation.

“F-fuck you, stupid bitch.” he wheezed, arms clinging onto Kakuzu’s biceps. He leaned into the other’s pulse and breathed in greedily. Kakuzu’s blood pressure skyrocketed, thinking of the time when he had bitten a chunk out of someone’s arm in the middle of a school yard brawl.

“I wasn’t lying…” Hidan continued. “I didn’t even know until my shithead of a manager texted me five minutes ago.” He chuckled bitterly. “He was like, _‘you’re moving right? What’s your new address? We need to send you all of your shit because you’re fired!’”_

The rage which had been building since Hidan asked to borrow money suddenly crumbled, leaving behind that confusing mixture of irritation and fondness that he had not felt since graduating from high school so many years ago. It was not, as he once thought, a strange side effect of puberty, or a persistent childhood sickness, but a feeling that was caused by the most irritating man in the world.  But now was not the time to contemplate the inner workings of his heart, so he shoved these thoughts away and focused on the issue at hand: Hidan’s current unemployment status, and their possible eviction.

“That’s different then,” he paused.

First impressions were important, and first impressions of your flatmates were even moreso. In the past, Kakuzu and Hidan had made quite the impression on each other when they were they were randomly chosen to be tag team partners in their fight club.  The Zombie Combo, they were called, as Kakuzu was untouchable and Hidan (besides his obnoxious habit of wearing body paint like a skeleton and parading around like a fool) refused to stay down. He was there for the money, and Hidan for the challenge, though inside they were just the same - sweat dripping into their eyes and blood ran down both their faces as they trampled on the bodies of the other competitors.

The memories were so far away, however, that they both felt that the person in front of him was just as familiar as he was a stranger. Kakuzu moved away and got a college education; Hidan dropped out of school to channel his frustration and limitless energy into more socially acceptable sports.

Perhaps it was time for a new first impression, one that was less explosive and more tolerant, which would begin with Hidan admitting that he should have been more forthright about his financial situation, and Kakuzu apologizing for what was, in his opinion, a slight overreaction.

“I agree…your manager is a, uh, shithead,” he said instead. His eye twitched as he felt Hidan’s teeth snicker across his collarbone.

“Hah! Yeah, he totally is.”

They stood there for a couple moments, Hidan’s face in his shoulder, Kakuzu’s arm hovering in midair, unsure if he should push his flatmate away or hold him upright so he would not collapse. He instead settled on resting his chin on the other’s head and staring nonchalantly at the bloodstain where he had smashed Hidan’s skull against the wall. How much would management would charge to fix it?  Would they call the cops? Would it be cheaper and easier to do the repairs himself?

Eventually, Hidan broke the silence. “This is really fucking gay,” he laughed.

“…idiot.” Disgusted, Kakuzu pushed him away, not caring if he put another bloody imprint on the wall. “I don’t care if you’re unemployed. I don’t care if you have to rob a bank or mug a few old ladies - you will pay your rent on time and without whining about it. If you don’t, I swear - ”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ll _‘kill’_ me,” he scoffed. “As if you can manage that, you softie.” He rubbed his neck, where a thick red circle was rapidly purpling.

The red-blue mark elongated his neck and matched his eyes, as if it were an alluring necklace rather than proof of an attempted murder. It flooded Kakuzu with those confusing teenage feelings - like guilt, hatred, the uncharacteristic compulsion to buy a choker and throw it at Hidan’s handsome, jerkish face -

"Shut up," he said, and fled the room.

Hidan had only been his flatmate for a couple hours, and already he was driving him insane.

Alone, Hidan fingered the blackening ring around his neck. “Even better than being tazed,” he muttered, adjusting himself in his pants as he began to wonder how he would pay the rent -

Or, more specifically, how he would rob a bank.


	2. Choked

Kakuzu is shoved down to the floor, barrel of a gun pressed to his head. The metal is so cold that it freezes the sweat dripping down his neck. Across the bank lobby, a long-haired blond stares at him from behind a gas mask, ticking. His arms are buried in wires, fuses, and sticks of nitroglycerin. Nearby, a woman gasps.

When all of this is over, Kakuzu is going to _kill_ his flatmate.

* * *

**Earlier that morning…**

Since dropping out of high school so many years ago, Hidan had, apparently, developed an allergy to shirts, and had absolutely refused to be in the apartment with more than two articles of clothing on his person at one time. As a result, Kakuzu found a half naked Hidan in the oddest of places - over the kitchen counter, under the fireplace mantle, and, this morning, strewn across Kakuzu’s own bed, where he had the misfortune of discovering that his asshole flatmate preferred briefs over boxers.

He slapped a hand over his eyes. _“Get out!”_

“And why should I?” Hidan replied. Nonetheless, Kakuzu heard the other bounce off of the bed and cross the room towards Kakuzu, who stood still by the door. “Isn’t it my apartment too?”

“Because this is _my room,”_ he growled. 

“What if I don’t get out? What are you going to do?” Kakuzu felt a breath on his shoulder. “…choke me?” Irate, he dropped his hand to glare at his roommate.

This was, in retrospect, a huge mistake.

Hidan smirked at him, eyes glimmering under pale eyelashes. His pectorals flexed as he shifted from one side to another. Kakuzu’s eyes trailed down the lines of his biceps, where fingers teased over his briefs, which declared, in large, Impact font,

##  **Harder Daddy!**

Eyes wide and breath gone, Kakuzu watched as Hidan tilted his head sideways, flashed a bloodthirsty grin, and leaned forward.

It was then that Kakuzu remembered who he was dealing with - an ex-baseball player with a criminal record and a penchant for assaulting people for no good reason.

“Fuck _off.”_

“Oi oi!” Hidan yelped as his flatmate grabbed his ear and yanked him away from his face. “You _ass-”_

Kakuzu quickly shoved his confused flatmate out of his room and locked the door behind him. “Clean up the living room!” he shouted, face flushed. “I’m tired of seeing your blood all the time!”

There was a clatter, a smash, a mumble. “But _you_ are the one that fucking threw me through the table in the first place.”

Kakuzu stomped into his bathroom and angrily went through his morning routine, ignoring the sound of Hidan shouting and the front door slamming.

Though Kakuzu did not strut about, preening about his appearance like certain flatmates, he had, over the years, taken a couple of psychology classes. In doing so, he had stumbled upon several psychological studies which had found that attractive people, for one reason or another, were more likely to be perceived as trustworthy - and when people trusted you more, they tended to trust you with their money. While Kakuzu could care less about what people thought of his appearance, or how much they trusted him, he really, _really_ liked making money, and so made a point of dressing nicely whenever such an opportunity arose.

He spent the next hour, sponge in hand, carefully blotting out the scars on his face and neck with a heavy duty bronze cover up. Turning his head left and right, he reapplied the layers over and over again until his skin was completely smooth. Afterwards, he carefully slipped into a silk Armani suit - a leftover from his days in working in an investment firm - and paced in front of the bathroom mirror, critically analyzing himself.

Dressed to the nines, even Kakuzu could see that he was really, very, objectively handsome. A _lady killer_ , as Hidan would say. _A total beast._

Not that he _cared_ what that idiot said.

 _(Hidan leaned his head towards Kakuzu, baring his neck, where the evidence of the week-old assault had faded into a light green smudge matching Kakuzu’s eyes. “What are you going to do… choke me?” his lips quirked, and those briefs -  those_ damn _briefs -)_  

One day, he swears he will kill that idiot.

Unfortunately for him, today was not that day.

“Hidan!” He knocked on his flatmate’s door.” I’m going out!”

No response.

He frowned. “Hidan?”

He checked the kitchen, guest bathroom, and, reluctantly, his own closet for his missing, near-naked flatmate, who was nowhere to be found.

Kakuzu hummed. “At least he won’t burn down the house while I’m gone.” He slipped on leather loafers and paused.

There in the living room, the red-stained glass had been swept into a corner. The former coffee table’s bent metal frame remained in the middle of the room, begging to be tripped on. It was a pitiful attempt at cleaning to be expected of someone like Mao Hidan, but even worse was the state of Hidan’s baseball equipment - scattered across the couch, broken and obviously tampered with.

So that manager had sent back Hidan’s equipment in this poor condition… It was no wonder he was trying to pick a fight earlier. 

He frowned. Picking up a metal suitcase, Kakuzu made a mental reminder to dispose of the remaining mess when he got home from the bank.

* * *

When he walked into the bank lobby, he immediately noticed something off about the place. The polished floor was scuffed and scratched, the ceilings short and closed. The granite floors reeked of desperation. Another customer squinted at him, one pale, purple eye following him as he trudged to an empty teller desk. 

Tapping his foot impatiently, Kakuzu stared passively at the teller window glass, discreetly inspecting the silk tie in his smudged reflection. With his imperial jade eyes and large, muscled frame, he seemed less like an entrepreneur and more like a hit man.

It was this intimidating sight that a woman saw when she finally stepped away from the vaults in the back. “Donyoku Kakuzu?”  

He gave her a crisp nod. “Yes. You are the loan officer of this establishment?”

“And the bank manager. Hanahaki Konan.” The two shook hands, Kakuzu inwardly frowning at her blue hair and nose ring, while Konan’s yellow gaze lingered over the black tattoo poking out behind his golden rolex watch. Her tongue piercing clicked in disapproval.

“If you would please step into my office to discuss your proposition?” She smiled icily at him.

“Of course.” Kakuzu bristled as she pressed a hand to the middle of his back. Her heels clicked as she lead him away from the teller desks and across the lobby, where a steel door awaited their arrival.

“You will have to excuse the cold reception,” Konan began. “We were expecting you to arrive at a later time. 

“It is of no concern,” Kakuzu lied, fighting the urge to slap her hand away from his suit. “Thank you for taking time out of your day to listen to my business proposal.” 

“It is my pleasure,” she drawled, blue eye shadow glittering, momentarily distracted by the arrival of chattering and laughing employees from their break. She watched them like a hawk as they assumed their positions at the front desk.

Meanwhile, at the bank entrance, a pair of black-clad customers slid through the revolving doors. They stopped, perhaps as disgusted by the bank’s unimpressive decor as Kakuzu was, perhaps feeling out of place with their strange attire - black cargo pants, black hoodies, mesh shirts. One wore a vests stuffed with explosives and a gas mask, while the other swung around a shotgun.

“Okay, uh…” The dark figure with a gun turned to his partner. “Oi oi, how am I supposed to do this?”

The stranger with the vest and the gas mask leaned to the side, long, blond hair falling out of their hoodie. “Do whatever you want, yeah?” they shrugged, gesturing dramatically towards the bank, as if they were all the audience, and the world was a play.

“Fuck.” The man fumbled with the gun, gripping it by the barrel, as if… 

…as if it were a baseball bat.

 _“I don’t care if you’re unemployed,”_ he remembered himself saying.   _“I don’t care if you have to rob a bank or mug a few old ladies - you will pay your rent on time and without whining about it. If you don’t, I swear - ”_

 _“Yeah, yeah. You’ll_ ‘kill’ _me. As if you could manage that, you softie.”_

“You took me seriously,” Kakuzu breathed, blood draining out of his face. “ _You absolute moron._ ”

There was no doubt - Hidan, and whoever the fuck was dumb enough to rob a bank with him, were far too incompetent to rob a bank and make a clean getaway. They were going to get caught.

He could imagine it now:

_Blue and red lights flashing. Hidan shoved into the back of a cop car, bitching, “It was all this asshole’s idea! I didn’t want to rob a bank, but I knew that was going to kill me if I didn’t!”_

No.

He refused.

There was _no way_ that Kakuzu would allow himself be pinned for a crime just because his flatmate was too stupid to know the difference between a joke and a threat.

He had to stop this bank robbery.

“Listen up you money grubbing bitches!” Hidan, face hidden by a ski mask and sunglasses, waved his gun wildly in the air. “This is a stick up! I want to see wallets _out_ , asses _down_ , and your _hands in the_ _motherfucking air!_ And if anyone even _thinks_ of calling the cops I’m gonna - ”

He noticed Kakuzu, and his voice faltered, wavered. “I’m gonna…”

 His eyes narrowed at Konan, raking up and down her blue pantsuit, glinting face piercings, modest strip of cleavage, and her well-manicured hands - one now wrapped around his flatmate’s arm.

Heat drained into Kakuzu’s chest, leaving his arms and legs cold and sweaty. His heart pounded in anticipation.

When was the last time Hidan had been this - this _pissed_? When he had assaulted that reporter? When he had gotten fired?

No…even while the cops dragged him away from Nara, he was ecstatic, blood in his hair and lips quirking. When he had been fired almost a month ago, Hidan was irate - at his team for dropping him, at his flatmate for attacking him - but then Kakuzu had hovered over him, uncharacteristically gentle, and allowed his flatmate to lean on him while he recovered from losing consciousness.

_“I agree,” his voice boomed against Hidan’s skull. “Your manager is a, uh, shithead.”_

_“Hah!” He laughed, tension disappearing from his body. His disarrayed silver hair tickled Kakuzu’s jaw. “Yeah, he totally is.”_

Where Hidan was a manchild who fell into good cheer just as fast as he succumbed to rage, this …was real. More tangible. It grew, draining away every happy memory and scrap of affection, until all that remained was a wave of pure hatred, radiating from the point where his flatmate connected to Konan. Recognizing the source of his anger, he quickly wrenched himself from Konan’s grip and pushed her several feet behind him.

Hidan tensed. The gun hung loosely by his side. He glared at his flatmate, gaze icy through the black lenses of his sunglasses, and darted forward.

In a split second, Hidan slammed the gun across the back of his legs. He crashed to the ground, ripping the knees of the thousand dollar suit. He shoved the barrel of the gun to the back of his head. “If you call the police,” he snarled, fingers twitching, “I’m going to shoot this fucker in the face!”  

Konan gasped, backing towards the front counters, where there was, no doubt, an alarm designed for situations just like this.

The blond bank robber turned to her. “Don’t even think about it, yeah?” They murmured in a low, androgynous voice. The lens of the gas masked shined with murderous glee, fingers flicking a kill switch up and down. “Put your hands in the air. Face on the floor.”

Konan reluctantly sank down, frowning all the while.

Kneeling at Hidan’s feet, Kakuzu glared up at his captor. _“You moron,”_ He harshly whispered, worried that someone would overhear their conversation and make the connection between the idiotic, foul-mouthed bank robber and Kakuzu’s idiotic, foul-mouthed flatmate.   _“What do you think you’re doing?”_

“You’re always calling me stupid - moron this, dumbass that! If you’re such a fucking genius,” Hidan jammed the gun into the back of his head, “then you figure it out!”

Konan, flat to the ground, gave Kakuzu a sharp look. He immediately plastered bewilderment onto his face, and shrugged, as if to say ‘ _I have no idea what this vagrant is talking about.’_

Internally, he seethed, counting to ten. Then twenty. Then fifty. When the rage didn’t go away, by number sixty-six, he sighed.   _“I have no clue what is going on in your head. Just… leave now, or I’ll kill you myself.”_

 _“Isn’t it obvious…Ka-ku-zu?_ ” He kicked the other onto the floor and ground his boots onto his back. _“It’s about the money… it’s always about the money with you. Maybe…”_ He hissed, kicking Kakuzu onto the floor and standing on top of his back, continued, voice louder. “Maybe, I just want to pay my rent!”

He turned whirled around onto the bank employees, huddled in the corner. “You hear that, fuckers!? I just want to pay my _goddamn_ rent! You don’t need all of that money, do you? Huh? _Do you!?_ ”

One of the tellers - a young, blond thing with pale green eyes - scowled at him. He whipped the gun at her and pulled the trigger, blasting a hole in the wall near her face. “Shut the fuck up,” Hidan said quietly, madly. “And get me my goddamn money.”

The blonde bank robber laughed. “I would listen to him if I were you, yeah? He’s absolutely batshit crazy. On the way over here, he shot up a convenience store because the clerk gave him a funny look.”

Kakuzu groaned against the granite floor. “ _Idiot,”_ he said under his breath.

 _“He’s a lying sack of shit,”_ Hidan muttered back.

At that point, Kakuzu decided that this farce had gone on long enough. He tested Hidan’s weight against his back, to no avail. No matter. If there wasn’t an opening, then he would just have to make one himself.

“ _Heh_ ,” He lowered his voice so no one else could hear them. “ _As usual. You just can’t do anything right, can you? It’s no wonder they kicked you off of the baseball team.”_

“You…” the gears slowly turned in his head as Hidan processed the insult. “You _son of a bitch!”_ He roared, moving to stomp on his hostage’s spine.

As soon as Hidan lifted his foot, however, Kakuzu rolled away. He didn’t bother brushing the dirt off of his suit as he stood up, arms flexing in front of his face. Fists curling. Blood boiling.

“You bitch…” Hidan growled, eyes wild. He prowled around his flatmate, gun held in one clenched hand, swaying from side to side.

In the background, Kakuzu noticed, Konan was crawling behind the front counter, where she would no doubt call the authorities. The blonde bank robber did not notice, transfixed by the sight of him and Hidan slowly circling around each other.

Hidan charged, gun raised above his head, and swung it at Kakuzu’s head. Without pausing, Hidan launched into a flurry of attacks - swinging up, down, left right, across, down, and up again. Kakuzu blocked the attacks with his forearms, grunting as Hidan managed to get a few blows into his sides.

On one particularly wild swing, Hidan overreached and tripped, cursing weakly. Kakuzu grabbed a hold of the gun and pulled him in close.

“You dickass motherfuc-! _Let go!”_ Hidan yanked the weapon back, finger perilously close to the trigger; barrel aimed directly at the green-eyed man’s chest. Pulse pounding, Kakuzu wrestled the gun to the side - and promptly found himself a bullet through his shoulder.

Smoke choked the air between them, spiraling from the barrel of the gun responsible for the red spreading throughout the businessman’s silk suit jacket.

Kakuzu’s head snapped at the sound of his flatmate shifting away, eyes zeroing in on the throat that he wanted to _break_ and _tear out with his bare teeth._ “I’m going to kill you,” he said, half incredulous - had he really been shot? Had Hidan _really_ fucking shot him? - and half infuriated. “I’m really going to murder you.”

 _“So fucking kill me then!”_ Hidan spat, equally pissed. Nonetheless, as he saw that ire flow out of his flatmate, he gulped; the barest hint of a bruised Adam’s apple peeking out from behind his collar.

That impertinence, that shitheadedness, and that briefest flash of Hidan’s throat were the finals straws that broke the camel’s back.

Kakuzu jerked the weapon back and rammed his fist into Hidan’s face. The gun clattered to the ground, and was immediately kicked across the room.

 _“Fuc - shit!”_  Hidan backed away, holding his glove to the ski mask, now dampened with blood. His sunglasses dangled from his face, revealing shocked, dilated eyes, brow twisted in confusion and fury as he searched frantically for his weapon.

Before he could gain his bearings, Kakuzu rushed him, wrapping his arms underneath Hidan’s and locking his hands around his neck. He began dragging them towards the entrance, the ex-baseball player flailing and yelling all the while.

“What the hell, Ka- _urk_!” Kakuzu squeezed, cutting off Hidan’s air supply.

 _“Shut. Up.”_ He growled softly into the other’s ear, just as the the bank’s alarm system started blaring. “We’re getting out of here.”

“No… _fucking_ way.” Hidan dug his feet into the floor.

Kakuzu pulled his flatmate flush against his front and hissed, “Do you _want_ to go to jail?”

“Of course not, you as -”

Kakuzu flexed his arms, pressing his thumbs against the would-be bank robber’s windpipe.

The would-be bank robber sputtered, and made several attempts to kick him, each strike growing progressively weaker. Within thirty seconds, he had gone limp, eyes glazed over; the back of his neck flushed a bright pink color.

With Hidan more compliant, exiting the bank became a quick affair, hurried by the increasingly loud cry of police sirens.

The blonde bank robber stared at the entrance, dumbstruck. “H-hey! Don’t leave without me, yeah!?” They unclipped the explosives from their vest and bolted after the two, muttering all the while about getting caught up in some ‘ _Craiglist asshole’s kinky roleplaying fantasy’._

* * *

 

fan art by [@ReapersPerdition](http://reapersperdition.tumblr.com/post/168533299464/thatshipcat-for-their-wonderful-fics-i-had-the)


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